


Literature and Masterpieces

by contort



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Smoking, sex as usual idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contort/pseuds/contort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denmark begins to question why they all continue on as they had centuries before, and Netherlands entertains a sudden compulsion to doodle all over the Dane's arms in the meantime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is somewhat slow burn, I'm really not too sure about how I'm going to take it yet but we'll see.  
> I'm going to try and keep this to a maximum of about 3 chapters.

Mathias had abandoned his room in favour of visiting Lars in the early hours of the morning. He had enough issues sleeping as it was, and on top of it, Madrid was awfully hot in the middle of summer and he was quickly learning the nights were no exception. Whoever had the bright idea to locate a meeting in Spain during this time of year really needed to rethink their decisions in life, he hoped they were suffering just as much as he was.

He knew Lars wouldn’t be asleep. In this country of all countries he definitely wouldn’t be resting too well for the days they were required to be there. As Mathias had passed through the halls in just a singlet and pair of boxers, he passed several other nations in similar states; all of them simply wandering the halls for one reason or another. A few raised an eyebrow at the way he looked without his hair in it’s usual style, the locks flaccid and dripping past his eyes. He pushed his fringe out of his vision and shuffled past the present countries as if he didn’t notice their mild surprise. Sweat beaded on the nape of his neck and dampened the ends of his hair, not even air con could save him now. 

Mathias had let himself in when he found the door unlocked and Lars didn’t seem all too bothered by his sudden appearance. The room reeked of contraband and serene laughter was placed on the Dane’s tongue; as the sweet redolence carried on the breeze that welcomed him from the open window. After a few minutes Mathias had made himself at home on that windowsill to obtain what relief the wind could give his over heated skin; alongside his Dutch companion and an ashtray.

"Say, what do you think everybody is really like?" Mathias murmured down at the dirty blonde…. or light brunette… he wasn't too sure; who was immersed in drawing renditions of fragmented Van Gogh works up and down the length of his arm.

"What are you talking about Mathias." Lars didn't look up from his masterpiece, and no flash of green was caught in the moon's fingers through the curtain of limp hair. The Dutchman exchanged one copic marker for another and claimed another patch of skin, petals climbing over the subtle knob of bone in the Dane’s wrist. "Everybody is exactly the same as they've always been."

The Dane chuckled quietly to himself. His temple kissed the window frame as he turned his stare back out to the carefully tended scenery and it stared back relentlessly. "You know that's not true."

"It's easier to pretend as if we know no different, you were enough of a surprise, I don’t think I can deal with more." Mathias laughed again at his companion's statement, his free hand plucking the remnants of a half consumed spliff from the ashtray and a lighter to revive it's blackened end. Lars kept working under what dull light the night offered, his lips puckering expectantly for the end of the joint. "Who knew Mr Denmark would be so fucking cogitative at this time of the morning."

"Heh. The one and the only." Bitten down nails caught on the skin of thinner lips as the silent request was fulfilled. Somewhere in the hotel room, Lars' phone alarm cut through the tranquility strung between them. Mathias sighed and waited until the other had pulled back from his attentive care to slip down from the windowsill. "Another meeting huh."

"Yeah, another meeting."

"I'll see you in a couple of hours, Nederland."

"You too Danmark, tell Norge I say hi.”

xxx

“Tino said he saw you walking around last night.” Mathias looked over the lip of his coffee at the Norwegian sitting across from him. Lukas didn’t look up from the newspaper between his hands, his own cup sitting a few centimetres away from his mouth. 

"Ah sorry Lukas, I needed a bit of air." The outline of 'Vase with Pink Roses' teased the bones of his wrist and threatened to spill from under the lips of his shirt cuff. He knocked back the rest of his drink and adjusted his cufflinks. The flirtatious promise that followed the aftertaste of Frangelico in his coffee was welcomed considering the hours he had ahead of him. The liqueur was obtainable due to the elder Italian brother insisting it was available in the hotel. Naturally Spain had agreed. "We should get going yeah!?"

"Drop it Mathias."

His smile didn't melt away at the comment and Lukas looked almost exasperated by the Dane’s steady resolve.   
They were better friends than they'd ever been lovers.

xxx

Denmark chewed on the end of his pen, criticising his peers from under his lashes. He quietly observed the room, rather than paid attention to half the shit claiming the air in various languages and thickly layered accents. Be it gloating or idiotic statements from the junior nations, statements that had once been somewhat endearing but were now just irritating after the previous dozen times. He didn't know why he was there, or even why half of the countries were to begin with. He also didn't know why they kept up with the pretences of these things. It was obvious after not even 10 minutes that they couldn't stand one another in such small quarters. The benevolent notions were played through, the typical pleasantries were polite and predictable, after that it was mind numbing topic after mind numbing topic until somebody's patience snapped and a fight broke out amongst a select few.

The Dane flashed a smile around his biro at Netherlands once he'd caught his attention, the man had long since succumbed to doodling in the margin of his notes. The other male quirked a brow at him, a small smile playing on the fringes of his eyes before it was replaced with that expected indifference and he returned to the conversation at hand.

"I don't see why you guys won't give weapons to Ukraine, no hard feelings Russia, but honestly-"

There was a collective groan of frustration as America opened his fucking mouth to share his opinion on a matter he yet again knew nothing about. A series of heads fell into hands whereas others just clenched their jaws out of pure irritation. The entirety of Europe looked like they were either going to projectile vomit acid onto his stupid suit or try to outright kill him. Denmark would high five whoever broke through their restraint first.

Anyway.

Each and every single one of the nations all had theses pseudo and well preserved personalities, behaviours and quirks. Small things that created variation amongst their kind. Some of those things were genuine, the majority were not. But for them to make those things a part of their apparent 'defaulted personas', created a false sense of security for the people around them; for their peers, for their bosses, for their people. It gave humans a power trip to think of themselves equal with the nations, to think that they understood who, or rather, what they were dealing with. They liked to think of the nations as domesticated animals they could control, their own soldiers who were perdurable against time and the mercy of death, the personal weapons tucked up their sleeves. And they went along with it, patiently waiting for their careless treatment from those greedy hands and greedy mouths. They were expected to be pliable, to accept what came their way, to act the way people imagined them to.

Periorbital dark circles hung under the eyes of those who were starting to feel the exhaustion of keeping up with those little facades after centuries of maintaining them. The thin layer of skin below their desolate stares exposed the cortisol engorged blood vessels. The tubular structures were clearly swollen with a wealth of rich pigment and contained promises of ruptured stories, of stories in the form of liquified violets, of a method to obtain new levels of exhaustion. Embers of bitterness burned cavities in the effected nation's throats and they were all the ones who desperately tried to fill the apertures with nicotine, alcohol, anything to keep themselves in check.

There were certain habits they all possessed, there were violent natures and something akin to god complexes that boiled under their skin. In some ways it was rightful for those behaviours and finer, less desirable, details to exist. God knew they were superior and they all knew it too, some denied it, other accepted it and carried on as if it were just a label and nothing more. Nobody actually spoke of such a taboo subject. However, everybody was well aware of the way the mutual knowledge of their actualities plagued the walls of their skulls, it was something that existed with the same consistency as mucus. 

Contrary to popular belief, Denmark saw more than people thought.  
He had simply decided long before people could realise the extend of what he did comprehend, that it did absolutely nothing for him to show it. His crooked and charming smile was the equivalent Norway's poker face. But behind those metaphorical and previously mentioned closed doors, that grin shattered at his feet, rolled and crunched under his toes. And then he'd wind up staring into the bottom of a whiskey glass and questioning why the fuck he kept trying for these people.

Hickies lined Russia's Adam's apple, the man made no move to hide himself even once he finally noticed the Dane staring. His smile was exhausted and it was returned. Yeah, he understood that felling all too well. He made a mental note to catch the taller male at some point, just to talk about the mouth behind the blemishes on his throat. A mouth of which had officially gone missing from his brother's basement 6 months prior. A mouth that he missed killing time with, around the rim of a beer bottle.

Ah good ole Pru, hopefully you finally found some purpose you obsolete little fuck.

He allowed his nonchalant stare to rest on his company from hours before, the Dutchman not noticing for sometime before he appeared to come out of some kind of daze and stared back in confusion. Denmark bit back his smile and quickly gestured for the man to join him for a cigarette, two fingers held subtly to his mouth, lips puckered. He received a quick nod and something like relief crossed the Netherlander's face. 

"Norge I need to take a piss, this really isn't going anywhere."  
  
"Ah what a shame, it was just about to get interesting." The smaller male didn't look up at him as he stood up.  
  
"Don't miss me too much."

xxx

The weightless cadavers of burnt tobacco were captured in Madrid’s humid grips, until the tendrils of smoke thinned out into nothing. The pair were lucky for the faint breeze in the air, however the air conditioning from inside was quickly missed as they tried to soothe their nerves with identical methods of utilising miscellaneous mediums.

“Russia’s not holding up too well.” A cigarette butt flirted with the Dane's lips and the flame of his lighter attempted seduced the opposing end to reignite after a failed first attempt. “I haven’t seen him look this shit in years."

“I was thinking the same thing.” Lars shook his head and lit the blonde’s cigarette for him when his lighter refused to produce any more flame, the Netherlander's particular brand of inclination already poised and burning away. “We should invite him up next time, kid needs a break.”

“Everybody would notice if the big guy slipped out.”

“I think they’d just be relieved that he left."

The Dane laughed and rested his head against the railing. The roof was so much more quiet, desolate compared to the proceedings below their feet. He pulled his suit jacket closer to his shoulders and pressed his forehead against the railing. The wind caressed his cheeks and wormed under the folds of his clothes as if to flirt with what warmth remained under the expensive layers. 

“How expensive even was that?” Lars said after a while as the Dane carelessly swiped off ash that had clung to the material.

“Couple of thousand, or something.” Lars choked on Mathias’ reply. “Calm down, it’s not all that much." The Dane’s lips curled into a serpentine smile and his eyes still directed down to the streets below them. “You weren’t complaining about where money went the last time we fucked Mr Netherlands, if I recall correctly, you didn’t even care what bodily fluids got on half a million.”

“That was different.” Came the mumbled reply. 

Casual sex. Drunk sex. Another one of the numerous 'one night stands'.

“Don’t worry Lars, I promise not to tell anybody.”

Mathias could feel that the Netherlander was still staring at him. He stayed as he was, watching the miniature version of the world continue on, at the floor of the drop below him. Cigarette smoke fell from his lips and his lids remained low as he observed with very little interest, humans briskly moving from one place to another with intent he couldn’t even begin to interpret. Strange creatures they all were. After some time he rolled his head against the metal to stare back at those pretty greens that were still glued to the side of his face, five minutes had passed since he realised the man had been transfixed on him for one reason or another. Green didn’t meet blue, the direction of Lars’ gaze rested just below the tip of his nose and he had to bite down on his tongue to resist smiling once it clicked.

“You can kiss me you know.” Mathias murmured, he watched the levelled expression rupture into a rare form of sheepishness. It was quickly followed by something the Dane could describe as almost bashful, later came raw surprise. Heh. “You’ve been staring at my mouth for a while now, you don’t have to ask, it’s cool."

Lars was one of those men who spoke more with his eyes, than he did with words, or with exaggerated facial expressions. For Mathias that was no issue, he’d grown up around other’s with a similar style of expression and found it too easy to decipher. Perhaps that was why the Netherlander and himself clicked so well, they didn’t need words to communicate a lot of the time. But the Dane was graced with a rare moment with his abrupt forwardness, one where Lars’ reaction leaked into the muscles of his face and shaped his expression into surprise and later something almost sheepish. 

Mathias rolled his eyes, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth when the man didn’t move. He took the initiative, his fingers curling around the ends of his scarf to pull him in, head angled ever so slightly to slide their noses against one another’s and he hummed against the thin lips that were parted mid gasp. It wasn’t anything deep and life changing, just a tender press of mouths. There was the playful addition of the Dane’s tongue teasing the sweet aftertaste of the Netherlander’s spliff, just to catch the residue before Mathias pulled back. 

“I don’t understand you.”

Mathias returned to smoking as if nothing had happened and chuckled at the other’s confusion.

“That’s absolutely fine by me Ned."

xxx

There were couples that everybody always expected, and some maintained those relationships for the proclaimed conventionality of it all, but over the years a lot of them lost the spark that had once been there. However, some of them such as Germany and Italy were probably an exception, devotion and adoration for one another was potent from across the border and perhaps once upon a time Denmark had envied them, but then he just kind of let it slide. They all ended up doing that eventually. In comparison, the rest of them were a sad bunch. Most of their relationships simply came down to strings of quick fucks with whoever was interested, some had fixations with others, some had reputations that got exploited, some just generally didn't care anymore. There were relationships and arrangements that existed entirely outside of politics, outside of textbook history; and in the place of bloodied chronicles were potential bygones that were to be supported by the foundations of an exchange of bodily fluids between the sheets.

Just as France and England were supposed to be at each other's throats, everybody already knew what they got up to after a few drinks. Just as England would then crawl back to an ever so oblivious America and treat him like he was his entire world behind those closed doors they had all begun to covet. Just as Spain and Romano had been off and on, and off and on for decades for whatever reason. In one of those breaks Romano had said to hell with his morals and been the one sucking Prussia off willingly for a while. Just as Prussia was once upon a time expected to be proud of his brother in that extra special way of his, everybody had seen the swift decline from that mentality as his predicament sunk into his head further. Nobody really saw a hair of the albino anymore, and only a handful knew where he'd gone off to for the past few months. Nobody questioned Germany about it, nobody really cared all that much. He was no longer relevant in the game they all played.

He slumped in his seat, head rolling back momentarily against the back of his chair, eyes stuck to the ceiling. God was he tired. Fingers pressed against his knee under the table and he sat up, blank stare resting on the Swede beside him for a moment before he tried to focus on whatever the hell was being discussed.

Denmark wasn't doing much better with keeping to expectation. The incongruity between him and Sweden in it's own way was dangerously harmonious, unhealthy so, but still they worked around each other to give each what they wanted for an hour or so and then, that was that. Denmark would return to the comfort of his own home with the aftertaste of oxidation on his tongue and the lingering sensation from being bisected on that cock of his. He was also supposed to be hopeless and unconditionally in love with Norway, and yet he had taken to running through condoms just as Netherlands blew through weed in the past decade alone. Denmark was supposed to be a lot of things that he no longer was, and could no longer find the energy to even establish and sustain. The only thing that had been continued in their 'relationship' was the fact Denmark still smiled for him, still allowed his shadow to slither and whisper over the Norwegian's skin in the wake of his wandering hands. Still did what was expected to maintain the comfort, the security for others. It just wasn’t as frequent as it used to be, the pretence was growing harder to play along with.

Just as Denmark's eyes wouldn't stop ghosting over the Dutchman sitting not too far from him and just as he smiled a little bit each time when he had caught the man's attention, there were some things he really was not and some things he was probably going to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I've been having serious writers block for some time now and I've been a bit iffy on actually updating this (lack of confidence and what not) but hopefully this is alright! I'd love to get some comments on this so I know what you guys think etc.  
> Anyway thanks a bunch for putting up with me and I hope to hear from you guys soon!

The break around noon had only provided them with so much relief. Water bottles had been treated like they contained a paradise by those who had been suffering the hardest from the suffocating warmth, which only amplified as the day went on. People had ditched their suit jackets within five minutes of entering the room again, even with the AC turned right up, it wasn’t enough for the Northernmost nations.  

Denmark had his forehead pressed to the tabletop after a while, people were trying to argue to pass time and he couldn’t understand why they would waste all of that energy. Norway wasn’t even attempting to snap at him to sit up at this point, the smaller male had his face hidden in the palm of his hand as he struggled with the heat just as much as he was. Even Sweden was perspiring until the back of his shirt was damp and his breath came somewhat strained. Finland was barely clinging onto life, and Iceland didn’t even look conscious by this point. Russia had been the first nation to say fuck it and leave the room entirely after 15 minutes.

Bullshit, this was absolute bullshit. 

If the majority of Denmark’s land wasn’t fucking Greenland he might have been able to handle the heat somewhat better, but nope there he was.

Dying.

He hadn’t had a drink since the tequila slipped in his coffee that morning and despite the fact, he knew he had an emergency flask hidden in his inner suit pocket, he was still trying to prove Belgium wrong when she said in passing that “he had a substance abuse problem”. Well okay, maybe yes he liked to drink a bit, he liked to have a drink on him at all times _maybe_ , but cut him some slack. He was the happiest country in the world. How could he possibly have a problem to begin with? Exactly. Therefore, no problems, no substance abuse, happy, happy, happy, ohgoditwassofuckinghot he just enjoyed to be a little bit topped up all day and perhaps with a new packets of cigarettes every couple of days. But no problems there.

He forced his head up and tried to sit back up, the Belgian woman wasn’t focused on him at all and instead, was exchanging a notepad between herself and Hungary. Norway wasn’t looking all that there with reality either, so he wouldn’t comment. The Dane didn’t look away from the small spot of something that suspiciously looked like something he didn’t want to name, considering the circumstances it probably would have been produced under; as he took possession of the emollient to his tension and said fuck it all to subtly as he took a nice long swig. 

Oh god yes. 

Nobody paid him any mind, just as he suspected. He probably would have slipped out for another smoke with half of Northern and Eastern Europe and a good portion of Asia at this point, had it not been hotter outside than it was inside. Norway rolled his gaze over to him from behind his hands, but other than that, his mouth didn’t twitch out a characteristically snide remark. Eventually he put it away after he realised he was not feeling any better, but at least he wouldn’t be thinking too hard about how much he wanted to get out and into a freezer or something.

Denmark’s features were uncharacteristically phlegmatic as he tugged at the tie around his neck and rolled up his shirt sleeves to try and allow whatever air was in the room, to relief his skin. Torpid limbs tried to rearrange themselves as he sunk back against his seat and tried not to grimace at how the thin cotton stuck to him.

Suddenly it felt like the attention of all of the nations, that weren’t engaging in drowsy rows, was completely devoted to him within seconds. More specifically, on his arms. He didn’t have to turn his head to feel Norway’s stare burning into his knuckles and along his ulnar and radial arteries. The Dane was well aware of the way various gazes trawled over the flawlessly crafted petals, the merges of scenery, and the portraits on his forearms. The temporary tattoos spiralling up towards his elbows, and beyond the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. 

He looked around in an attempt to read what exactly the display was translating into; in the eyes of the curious faces. Eventually he rested his gaze on Netherlands’ and quirked an eyebrow at the small smile directed in his direction, ah. His fingers began to drum against the tabletop, perhaps the way bone shifted under the delicately drawn flora could have been taken as a form of teasing. “You dirty bastard.” Denmark muttered under his breath. Netherlands may as well have just left hickies all over his arms.

The marginally darker haired male hid the length of his mouth with the side of his index finger, but the flash of teeth that appeared before the casual cover, had not been missed by the Dane. Denmark shook his head subtly with a small quirk influencing the angle of his lips and rested his head onto his palms. The brilliant white had conveyed the skeleton of a suggestion within the fraction of time he’d witnessed the rare sight; a sight which openly contradicted their conspiracies of silence, regarding where they stood with one another. 

The heat was still making his head spin, his throat remarkably barren and it was causing him to stick to every surface he so much as brushed against. However, he’d be damned if he didn’t sit from that point onwards, with steel reinforcements lining his etiolated spine and a curious eye cast over towards Netherlands. Green observed him with quaint obsession for the remaining hour, and he reciprocated to the attention in a similar manner. Some kind soul had somnolently pleaded to call it a day, as the temperature refused to relent and the majority had drawled their tongues along their palates to form something akin to agreement, with the suggestion. Never once did Denmark believe, that he would some day find Germany’s sweet sounding consent to their unified request; resemble that of honey and milk dripping off every syllable and offering some sort of relief to the, practically, existential torture the Dane was being subjected to. However that was how things seemed to be.

Denmark rubbed his hands over his face and deemed himself delirious enough from the god forsaken swelter, to be thinking such things and dragged himself to his feet as quickly as he could. Somewhere behind him he heard the dull thud of Iceland’s head hitting the tabletop with a drawn out groan.

xxx

As soon as Mathias had dragged his heavy limbs through the door, he’d proceeded to run a cold bath and strip off his soused clothing, before submerging himself beneath the surface. It was a blessing considering the temperature, that they didn’t entirely need breathing as desperately as humans did, so he was able to just relax beneath the veneer for a long while as his lungs relaxed and the water kissed his forehead and lapped at the peaks of his knees. 

The sun was an unmerciful bitch when she wanted to be, sure he could deal with it at times but today was not one of those days nor would weather above 17 ever be ‘bearable’. He relished in the palliation the water provided to his overheating body.

Through the wall of marble and water, he could vaguely hear the door to the hotel suit open and close as Lukas, well he assumed it was Lukas as he was the only one who had a key, entered. He hadn’t bothered to close the doors within the suit, simply left everything carelessly open and strewn his clothing, saturated with sweat, cologne and stale cigarette smoke, from the bedroom to the bathroom. He could hear the slight vibrations as the other male made his way over to the bathroom. A hand carded through long since limp strands of hair and he froze immediately in surprise. Mathias broke the surface hesitantly, a question draped from the edges of his brows and within the corners of his mouth. 

It was obvious the Norwegian was beyond febrile in this weather. The Dane shifted to sit up and raised an eyebrow at the owner of practically scorching hands and a complexion red with swollen capillaries. He’d read more than enough books throughout the centuries about human anatomy. In short bursts of fascination, he would study specific topics, be it history, languages, anatomy, astronomy, sciences, psychology or autobiographies, just anything that really caught his interest for a year or two and he would try to gain all of the material he possibly could on that topic alone. His extensive collection of novels and encyclopaedias was only ever growing and his shelves in three houses already overflowed with the plentitude of texts he had picked up throughout the centuries. He knew that the reason why Lukas was overly flushed, was due to the fact his body was involuntarily trying to lose heat in order to balance his core temperature and ensure it would be at optimal conditions. The blood vessels on his face had opened up to allow heat to be lost from his blood quicker. You get the idea, it wasn’t all that complicated a process.

Regardless, he’d sat up and removed himself from the water. Side stepping the Norwegian, he claimed a towel and drained the bath, only to put the plug back in to refill it for Lukas to cool off in a similar fashion. No words were exchanged between them, a private default they had grown more comfortable with as their lives had progressed. There was a dark ring discolouring the innards of the bathtub, where what ink that had lifted from the Dane’s skin and risen to rim the perimeter of the waterline. 

“He loves you a lot, Den.” Lukas said while he pulled off his clothing and folded them up neatly on the edge of the sink. His movements were slow and heavy with lassitude abscribed to the heat. Mathias looked down at the smaller male and nodded once. His easy smile slipped all too easily for concern. The Norwegian sighed and tried again. “I’m not criticising. I just want … Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t do anything more stupid than I usually do.”

“I mean don’t get hurt Mathias.”

Mathias cocked his head to the side, the smaller male’s blatant concern was out of character. But it was genuine, no hidden agendas, no syllables strained nor expectorated. He smiled warmly, nodded once again and left it at that. 

For once, he really didn’t know how to react. 

When he’d finally left the building with new attire and momentarily sweat-free, half of Eastern Europe was already standing outside the hotel with their cigarettes in hand. They all took advantage of the slight decline in temperature that made their habits slightly more enjoyable than it might have been earlier. Amongst them he managed to find Lars’ tucked away at the back of the gathering and took a seat beside him. 

Russia was amongst the group, talking animately with his little sister, but other than that the others weren’t all too interesting. Natalya was a…. force to be reckoned with, and not entirely in a bad way. Surprisingly enough, he and the Belarusian were on rather good terms. He knew how to deal with people of her “calibre” due to living with Norway for practically his whole existence, and on top of it, she admired the way he could almost completely elaborate on the majority of the random facts she had hidden up her sleeves. It was just one of the many benefits of having an abundance of time, to read book after book after book on anything that aroused the Dane’s curiosity. Just as she knew enough trivia to probably put the whole world to shame, he knew enough background about some of those random little somethings that she would sometimes bring up if she were ever feeling particularly talkative. The Dane lit up his cigarette as he quietly watched the group in front of him and proceeded to pick apart their conversation, before tuning out of his immediate surroundings entirely. 

Cars lost their forms, the faces of tourists and pedestrians were lost and untranslatable, everything around him lost solid shape as his eyes fogged out of focus to their own accord and left him to the monotonous inhale and exhale of addiction, and to the quiet echo of his own thoughts. Lars’ subtly pressed their shoulder’s together, but other than that, did not pursue further. Mathias knew the Netherlander had a crush on him, well ‘crush’ was a bit of an understatement but it was certainly along those lines. Tender and slightly more deeper rooted than just puppy love or a reckless gasp of interest. It was something simmering, hissing and crackling quietly with the occasional spark whenever they acted upon impulse with one another, embers waiting to be bullied to burst into blistering flames. They were best friends with a little something slipped in on the side, the high to the low and the low to the high, the desperate, spontaneous fuck in some dingy hotel and the pre-planned candle lit evenings with Egyptian cotton and heavy liquor.

They didn’t date, just… had arrangements.

But it was hard to just ignore that kind of attraction.

A small grouping of nations appeared to be gathering together with suggesting of drinks hanging off their tongues, and it was certainly an idea that the Dane did not oppose. “Ya wanna to go to the bar?” Mathias said around the filter between his lips.

The Netherlander laughed quietly at the back of his throat. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” 

xxx

Mathias curled up in the booth, his back against the wall and legs facing the aisle as he rested his novel against his thighs and folded the cover of the book over, along with all of the pages he’d already read, to the back. The spines of all his books ended up abused, yet well loved from his preference with methods of reading. He loved seeing the wear in his novels, to feel the wrinkles marring once straight foundations, the yellowing in the backs, the lines he’d scratched under and margins he’d scribbled in. 

A glass of whiskey on the rocks sat at his elbow and he barely looked up from the gripping text as he obtained his beverage and kept it raised to his mouth to sip at leisurely, without disturbing his reading.

“Der Richter und sein Henker? …it’s in German?” Lars said after a short while, his mobile phone resting on the tabletop. 

“Yeah, Gilbert recommended Dürrenmatt to me a while back.” Mathias mumbled around his straw, wordlessly he held out his hand to have a pen pressed to his expectant palm. Quickly he jotted down notes at the end of his chapter and continued on, the Netherlander’s biro hanging from between his teeth.

“Any word about where he is?” Lars sucked at a straw as he scrolled through his phone, probably texts from Alice. 

Mathias clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and took another sip from his glass. “Nej, not even Ludwig knows anything.”

“Are you sure he’s not dead yet?” Still, Lars pushed.

“Certain, his heart is still functioning, so he can’t die.”

“But the land belongs to Russia now?”

Mathias shrugged and resumed tending to his drink with a hum. From his peripheral, he could see the Netherlander going for his pens and to express his acknowledgement of the man’s unworried request, he rested his palm flat on the table top and offered what little bare skin still remained to act as Lars’ canvas. He finished his glass and within minutes it was replaced. 

Nice.

Lars’ hands were gentle as he rolled the Dane’s sleeves up and his pen strokes were just as soft as they usually were. A kiss of ink against epidermis, the tender hold of his fingers to keep the Scandinavian still as he worked. Mathias put down his novel in favour of watching in quiet fascination as the Netherlander transformed lines and various pigments into a masterpiece. One of which Lars’ would be oh-so modest about once he’d finished off the later details, and Mathias would be left wishing, just as he always did, for it to stop washing off in the shower. 

Or for it to stop coming off whenever Lars took to doing shots of Goldschläger off of his body. Lars turned Mathias’ forearm towards the ceiling, to decorate the cool susurration of the branching watercourse of veins and arteries. Mathias fingers curled up to brush along the Netherlander’s wrist just as the tip of his pen graced the pale wash of blue around his wrists, signs of extreme frostbite, signs of the cold Mathias was far more comfortable with compared to the stuffy room. 

Lars finished off the last few lines of a rouge sketch of Meisje met de parel and Mathias ran his tongue over his lips as he mused on what he could comment on in regards to the man’s fixation to adding short-term vestiges against the thin layer above his bones.

“I could almost say you’re leaving your mark, Lars.” Mathias allowed the Netherlander to manipulate his arm this way and that, as he searched for a clean sheet of skin to work upon. 

The look in Lars’ eyes was reminiscent to that of a mirth, of that earlier satisfaction and the unspoken vowels of an inaudible statement. ‘Perhaps I am.’ 

xxx

Eventually they’d migrated to the mens room to engage in conventional routine, and by that it means ‘taking a piss but not really taking a piss just rather just walking in to wash hands and stall time for a bit’. They’d been playing around with the soap dispensers whilst murmuring about politics, as humans passed in and out of the room. Lars’ lips slipped into a frown when Mathias’ accidentally washed away half of the Netherlander’s artwork, petals bled into the bowels of the tinny sink and Mathias’ only response to the evident displeasure, was a sly raise of brow and a hushed murmur of his own disapproval.

“Shame, if it were a tattoo this wouldn’t happen, don’t you think?” Mathias gently patted at his fingers with a hand towel, to try and salvage what still remained. He kept his eyes down as he binned the damp scraps and sighed, now dry fingers combing through his hair. “I would let you do it too if you wanted, you’re extremely talented with your hands.”

From the corner of his eye he could see his companion’s eyes widen, his expression one part intrigued and the other tempted.

Perhaps it was cruel for the Dane to tease him so, but the other did not seem to be complaining.

As soon as they were alone Lars threaded his fingers through Mathias’ hair, pleasantly intoxicated and still nursing the hangover from the excessively high temperatures he’d been exposed to during midday, Mathias laughed and opened his mouth to grant the Netherlander access to his mouth. His back hit the wall within seconds, their tongues slid against one another’s, and the Dane kissed the other male back with the intensity of disastrous fulmination.  

Oh Lars was definitely not complaining.

The Dane softly exhaled unadulterated blithe as fingers skimmed down his waist and tucked under where ass joined his upper thigh. Willingly, Mathias hitched his leg up to the other’s hip and pulled the Netherlander closer until their groins were subtly rolling together. Lars’ tongue still harboured the residual extract from his bourbon and cola, and between the cracks of his teeth could Mathias find a heavy concentration of, what he deemed to be, the comforting flavour. 

Lars complained with throaty protests when the door swung open to host a very surprised looking Antonio; who only laughed at the two Northern European’s, who of which had, had no time to attempt to unlatch themselves from one another, and continued on doing whatever the hell it was he wanted to do. Mathias rested his head against Lars’ shoulder and started chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“What’s so funny?” Lars muttered beside his ear.

“It’s easier to laugh than to be embarrassed.” Mathias sighed and rolled his shoulders back before resting his head against the wall behind him to grin both lasciviously and voraciously at his counterpart. “Well, well, well, what do yo-“

“Mathias! If you two are still there, I think Ludwig found a football or something and is playing a round outside. Would you like to play?” Antonio’s voice echoed in the small room, amusement embellishing the ends of his words. “Well that is if you’re not planning on having sex in one of _my_ bars, but you kno-“

“We’ll go if you shut the fuck up.” Lars clipped, Mathias could feel the reluctance in his limbs as he withdrew and unhooked the Dane’s leg. Despite the fermented cloud indubitably resting upon each of their consciences, there were some things that were saved for better locations. With mirroring hesitance did Mathias untwine his fingers from the Netherlander’s hair and start to head out with Lars on his heels.

A late twilight welcomed them as they’d slipped outside, admittedly their motor skills weren’t superb, however compared to the loud, intoxicated laughter and slurred babble from various nations and a handful of enthusiastic humans, they were doing relatively okay. The sky bled dusty colorants of saffron, cinnamon and nutmeg into lurking mints and deep Oxford blue at a pace of it’s own. Mathias stole a hair tie off of one of the female nations in passing, so he could tie back his damp fringe into a neat bun.

“Kommen sie zu spielen?!!”

Now the nation of Germany, was to say the least, exceptionally well and truly fucked. A surprisingly amount of people had seen that man completely plastered. As much as he had a reputation of being relatively put together and extremely serious, as soon as there was an opportunity to drink in excess, Ludwig was almost always at Mathias’ elbow and challenging him to a competition with the same kind of enthusiasm a lot of the younger nations harboured. Sometimes it really threw Mathias off to remember that in comparison to the rest of them, Ludwig was still so young.

The German’s cheeks were noticeably rubescent from both the sun and his intake throughout the evening, his fringe stuck to his forehead in a manner he would be ashamed of once sobriety returned to him, and twin pairs of lapis lazuli did not appear to be present in real time. A youthful smile was on his face and his attention completely turned from the company newly present, as soon as a very eager Feliciano kicked the ball in his direction. Thankfully, the Italian looked a tad bit more sober than his partner who looked like he was about to either conk out in the middle of the street, or throw up all over his expensive shoes. Probably even some combination of both, but it was hilariously obvious that he wasn’t even in complete control of his legs by that point. 

Mathias joined in just for the hopes of being able to take it a bit easier, he was still slowly baking under the sun, but at least it wasn’t as deathly as it had been. The temperature had dropped some, but only enough to offer the Dane an hour of playing time before he’d resigned to the curb with a lukewarm RTD in hand. He didn’t even particularly remember how or when it ended up in his possession. 

He sunk down until his back was pressed to the concrete and not to far away from him Lars was engaging in a conversation with Portugal; sat just beside his head, Alfred and Arthur were actually having a pleasant discussion over their opinions of an episode they’d seen of “Life After People”. Mathias half listened to what they were saying and half pondered about the subject himself. Arthur quietly admitted to having a sick sense of satisfaction that their natural existences would be able to walk among nature once again, and revel in the way things had been before humans had done as they so pleased with their lands. That they would be free, no longer trapped to fit into the norms, to finally act upon their inherent characteristics, attributes, qualities. The ramblings of a drunk man had never been more fascinating.

The Dane actually agreed with what the Englishman was saying.

He watched a distance waltz of gold notes amongst the permeating sky and tried to find comfort in what little breeze fingered areas of exposed skin. Summer gave him too much time in his own head, the life consuming heat made him too apathetic to consider striking up a conversation, and it vaporised all hopes of energy from his body until he was left lazily patting around for cold patches on the floor and contemplating too much all the while. Perceiving too much. 

Grit stuck into his shoulder blades and under his nails, his gums were numb and his head felt a little too heavy for his shoulders, but all in all he was doing alright. 

He was doing alright.

xxx 

The worst thing about summer was how late the evenings grew. As much as Mathias could find some slither of enjoyment in the sun, there was only so much his skin could take before he overheated and had to resign to someplace cooler.As resilient as the nations could be to weather, there were some climates they were better suited to than others, and Mathias certainly thrived better in the bitter cold than he did in the very heat, that was slowly draining him for all he was worth. It was too hot to smoke, be it nicotine or something categorised along the spectrum of illegal.

It was ridiculously late at night again when it had finally begun to cool down. Shadows ate away at whatever rays of light strained to penetrate the earth, darkness slithered between the cracks of living in order to establish a dominion over the city terrain, yet was interrupted by the soft wash of street lamps. Mathias adopted the Netherlander’s bedroom again that night and the window that he was already acquainted with, acted as his perch. Lars was taking extra care with his fingers this time, with inks that smelt suspiciously more permanent than the ones he’d been using before. Regardless of the Dane’s suspicions, Mathias kept quiet and continued to examine what stood below him.

Illuminance from what lights appeared to grow from the ground, cast the concrete in an ominous shade of bruised orange and deeply saturated greens. The lustre neutralised the heaviest of shadows within it’s perimeter, but could not keep them entirely at bay despite the flickering bulbs fierce perseverance. A bird hopped by on the oedematous concrete, it pecked at the scraps of people’s lives that littered and pilfered space in the gutter; he could have sworn to have heard it ruffle it’s feathers. With his spare hand he wiped sweat away from until his limp fringe and he was almost on the verge of adopting Germany’s signature style, in order to keep the product-free strands from providing additional heating to his already protesting pores.

“I’ll turn on the air con. You should probably try to sleep tonight.” Lars said after a while, concern lay in the weight of his brow as he watched Mathias fan himself with a book, a different text from earlier in the day. Mathias rolled his unfocused gaze towards him and nodded, the cover of ‘Thiel’ blurred out of definition with how quickly his wrist whipped back and fourth. 

“This sucks.” He managed to rasp out, his throat drier than he’d expected. The Netherlander was quick to retrieve him a glass of water. He knocked back the welcomed benefaction desperately, it still didn’t feel like enough but god was it better than nothing. 

“This probably isn’t the best climate for you.”  

Mathias unstuck himself from the windowsill and pulled it shut. He didn’t intend to make the trek back to his own room, it was not as if he would be entirely missed until morning. The Dane practically collapsed onto the Dutchman’s cool sheets, to which he nuzzled further into the soft fabric to obtain as much of that relief as he possibly could. To avoid smothering himself, he rested his cheek against the duvet and stared out the window, his stare exchanging states from focused to unfocused. Lars still hadn’t closed the blinds, no big deal.

Consent had been long since given to Lars, in regards to his forever compulsive and spontaneous urges to doodle at any given point of time. And as soon as new skin was bare on the Dane’s body, the tease of spotless flesh under the Dane’s singlet, the wiry muscle on his shoulder and biceps, a pen had found the untouched sections of canvas as if offended by the last of artwork on his form. 

“I can’t get over how cold you are.” Lars murmured, his voice barely threatening to rise as if he were scared to break the peace between them. Mathias simply smiled at his comment and stretched out his limbs further.

“You’ve always been around Southerners. I’d imagine it’s quiet unfamiliar for you.” The Dane tried to will the lethargic grip on his limbs and tongue to have some give, no go. The mugginess was going to be the death of him. “Greenland doesn’t get above 10 in the summer. I usually get an average high of like 22, maybe even an extreme close to 30 but…. this shit. Fuck this sucks.”  

“It’s nice though, especially now that I have an oversized icepack.”

“I’m legitimately dying because of it.” 

“If I can survive, you can too.”

“That’s no fair, you’ve had plenty of exposure to this bullcrap.” Streaks and freckles of grime were concentrated around the four boarders of the windows, before the impurities began to bleed into the defenceless surface, where only a patch of untouched glass remained. Dirt and age mimicked prepubescent acne on the transparent face, completely changing the way one looked at what existed beyond the blemishes. Mathias sighed, the fluttering and marginally tickling sensations dancing down his spine granted him an acute hit of euphoria. Nothing to focus on, nothing to worry about, nothing to disturb the peace and quiet hanging between the two of them.

Trees were dusted with the faintest blush of red from the street lights, or perhaps that was just his eyes playing tricks on him. He watched as twigs and branches caressed one another, their graceful movements so similar to the ephemeral conversation of physical contact between long-time lovers. They danced and flittered in what gentle breeze the night graced the stifling streets with. The forms of the tree’s silhouettes were forever evolving on the cement and against the walls of the Netherlander’s hotel room. The pleasant zephyr manipulated their rich limbs, to toy with the direction of unnatural radiance that emitted from that single bulb. 

Lips pressed down on the most prominent protrusions of spine in his neck and he sunk deeper in the mattress. The tip of a tongue chased a bead of sweat and punctuated the gesture with a single peck. He waited patiently, for some kind of continuation. Nothing, he waited and nothing came. 

“Go to sleep Mathias, you look exhausted.”

“You too Lars.” The Dane rose his head and tried to look back as far as he could at the Netherlander. “I won’t sleep unless you do.”

“Yeah, I think I might.”

Mathias’ only response was a smile as he pulled the other down onto the sheets beside him. They remained perfectly content with that, sharing the same space and their clement breathing. The dull hum from the air conditioner; acted as the white noise to lull them both into rest and at some point, Lars’ arm had found it’s way around Mathias’ waist. 

The Dane stared shamelessly at the other male as soon as his eyes had closed.

To say he was handsome was quite inaccurate, nor would that word alone ever do him justice. 

Internally, there was a wilderness wealthy with forbidden fruits and traces of surrealism, a personality and character that twined well beneath figurative soil to depths unbeknownst to man. Habits and quirks made the land more ripe and supple, history and knowledge forged a million tracks. He wore the scar on his forehead with pride, yet hid the evidence of decapitation behind the soft length of cotton almost always around his neck. Now it was bare, the silvery necklace basically burned into his skin and the Dane was one of the scarce few who ever saw the man without his indemnity against his past. 

Everything about him was just a few shades richer than Mathias, his skin, his hair, the brilliance hidden amongst the incantation of startling green. His hands were soiled in dirt and flora to replace what was marked down in history books, his prior greed was covered with curious modesty and contrasting habits that could potentially be perceived as remnants of what was one a domineering trait. And despite his ability to actually become quite flustered to the point of no longer being able to reply in anything other than noise instead of words, he was proud. He was unbelievably and rightfully proud of all he had accomplished. 

Mathias kept his breathing as evenly as he could, his gaze flickering over the way filaments of unnatural light caressed the peaks of the Netherlander’s cheekbones, washed over his shoulders and caught the very tips of dark eyelashes. The blonde closed his eyes but did not sleep.

Neither male knew if the other was still conscious, regardless, neither said a word. 

Mathias began to write into the bed sheets with his fingertips, nothing in particular, just words, sentences, anything.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry oh my god I have had the worst writer's block for mONTHS but I have been adding bits and pieces to this so I didn't end up too fucked once it came back to me. Hopefully this is alright as a belated Christmas present to you all and while I'm here Happy New Year!!!! Gunna be moving to Australia as of tomorrow but I will have a lot more time to work on this, fingers crossed my mental state is better. Thank you so much for all of the wonderful comments, please do keep it up I love hearing what you guys think about it.
> 
> Anyways, I know this is a bit short but the length will pick up again once I'm back in the swing of things. So with that, I will leave ya to read. Love you guys lots, take care and have a wonderful 2016 <3

Mathias was envious of how heavily Lars slept. His breathing only interrupted by the faintest scattered snore and his eyes shifted behind his eyelids to suggest he were dreaming. For at least half an hour he’d been pretending to sleep and during the fight, he had eventually given in and sunken to his knees before the land of dreaming. Taken the holy communion of a bitter sweet la-la-land, drenched in bitter sweet unconsciousness into his mouth ‘if you know what I mean’ and all while he was still on his knees. Okay that metaphor of sorts got away from him, but you get the idea. A secret smile pulled at his lips in his sleep. Mathias surprised himself by fingering the gentle curve on the Netherlander’s mouth before he retreated his hand back beside his own face and tried not to chuckle at how adorable the man’s previous, and futile, determination had been.

He didn’t understand why sleep no longer came to him as often as it were supposed to, perhaps his body didn’t need it anymore, perhaps his body had realised he were not human therefore such functions were not necessary. But dreaming was nice, he loved being able to dream while remaining aware of reality. Since small pleasures of such nature hardly reached him at night these days, he definitely indulged into daydreaming. He’d ingeminate them down on the pages of a little worn-down book that he kept in his jacket or in his satchel at all times. Scrawled notes, singular phrases or complete paragraphs.

Lars always used Mathias’ skin as if it were the pages of his sketchbook, whenever the opportunity was there.

The Dane was still yet to ask for Lars to actually make his creations permanent for once. That’d be nice.

Mathias’ eyes wandered around the room, at the half packed suitcase that lay open on the floor, at the sheets of note paper and memos that were yet to be arranged. Artists… or rather stoners. He turned his tireless gaze down to the Netherlander’s satchel, the heavy buckles still undone and much of the contents partially pouring onto the wooden slates. Peeking out from between layers of expensive leather and brass was a plastic bag, that was quite clearly full with what freebies the hotel room had, had to offer. The Dane really had to try his best to not start laughing.

It was almost 5am when Mathias chose to slip from the bed as quietly as he could, a note left on the bedside table for the other male not to worry as he pulled as much of his clothes as he could stand. Eventually after making sure he’d removed all of the littered signs of himself, he made his way back to his initially designated hotel room. The room was still a mess but Lukas wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Mathias had shrugged to himself and taken a few minutes to refresh himself in the shower, brush his teeth, finger idly at the prescriptions he had kept tucked alongside his hair products; eventually he washed down the recommended dosage with a palmful of tap water. Simple one of those many small details, one of those small precautions put in place to maintain normality. Everybody had their small things.Within another few minutes Mathias had changed, packed up the room, as well as, both of his and the Norwegian’s suitcases as precariously as he could. He left in record time to get in on coffee before the other nation’s crawled out from their respective rooms.

It would have been interesting to see who was nursing a hangover, Germany in particular, but he didn’t intend to stick around the cafeteria all too long.

He’d taken extra care in the shower that morning, one arm kept out from the stream of water in the hopes he’d be able to salvage Lars’ hard work.

He made a mental note to collect the remaining soap bars and matches to Lars’ ever-growing collection.

xxx 

The dimly lit room was close to being completely empty when he entered, all save for one occupied chair at a single table. He smiled faintly at the back of one familiar silvery blonde head of hair and that odd curl that he had long since stopped questioning the existence of. He eventually sat down in front of Lukas with his cup of lukewarm coffee and not much else, his chosen company had a mirrored set up with the additional company of a paperback.

“It tastes terrible, I’m warning you.” Lukas muttered, his voice was still caked with layers of sleep. But he was talking, so that was something. Cup number 3 in that case. He didn’t look up from his phone as the Dane took a seat and kicked his legs up at a diagonal, on the tabletop.

Mathias looked down pointedly at the cup sitting beside the smaller male’s elbow. “Then why are you drinking it if it’s so bad?”

“I can’t be screwed looking for another place this early.”

Mathias sipped at the rim of his cup gingerly before scrunching up his nose and curling his upper lip back over his teeth in disgust. “ It tasted fine yesterday, who replaced it with piss?”

“America complained to the staff last night that it was too strong and paid them all to make it more friendly for him and his pathetic tastebuds.”

“I knew we should have brought along more of those sachets.” Mathias still tipped it back regardless of the taste, or rather, lack thereof, and lifted his hand for one of the lurking waiters to appear at his elbow with a sympathetic smile as he poured another. Even they knew it was bad. Still, coffee was coffee and whatever caffeine he could pump into his system was a blessing in itself. Regardless of Mathias’ resolve to put up with it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for very long before he started dry retching from the stale, urine flavoured concoction’s consistency alone. After suffering through another half glass, he pulled out of his flask to empty it’s contents into the remaining abomination in the hopes of making it at least somewhat worthwhile.

“You look like you haven’t slept.” Lukas put his phone down as he spoke, his gaze quickly caught Mathias’ and the Dane stared back just as blankly.

“Because I haven’t.” Mathias had broken eye contact momentarily and rubbed absently at a patch of ink that had smeared out of place sometime in the morning. He could feel the velvet night glue to the bones of his wrists, as Lukas’ attention was undoubtedly drawn to the whisper of unnatural illustrations on the elder male’s skin.

“…You stayed with Netherlands again?”

“I figured you would want the bath for the night. By the way, I cleaned the room so you can take your time this morning.” Mathias kept his eyes on the smaller male as thin fingers seized his forearm, in order to roll down the fabric of his shirt sleeves down to the elbow. Lukas inclined towards him and took his time in examining the perfect renditions of genius’ creations that twined up and down the full length of his arm. The Norwegian fell extremely quiet for quite some time. As time slipped away in graduals, the elder blonde turned his hand palm side up to tap at Lukas’ wrist to ease his attention back to his immediate surrounds and company.

“Do you feel the same way about him, Dan?” Came the sudden query as soon as focus blinked back into Lukas’ stare.

It was his turn to endorse silence. He didn’t entirely know what to think of such a question, when it was coming from the lips of somebody who had once occupied his every thought and decision for centuries. It was strange how they all matured and outgrew old obsessions and desires. It was strange to look at the Norwegian and not experience that same desperate burning behind his ribs. It was strange to be asked if he felt the same as whatever it was Lars felt for him. He ran his tongue over his lips, took another sip of the overwhelming alcoholic mix and he shrugged.

“You’re stalling.”

“I think I could.”

“It’s not good idea to lead people on.”

“It’s more complicated than that Norge.” Mathias sighed and tipped his head over the back of his chair, eyes fixed to the foetal rays of dull morning sun against the ceiling. “I don’t want to ruin anything, you know how I get.”

He could feel the smaller male’s stare practically burning into the side of his face and he did all he could to not turn to pay attention to the dark eyes charring his cheekbones and side of his nose. “You don’t really trust people that much these days.”

“I never did Nor, just you, just him, probably Ludwig too at some point, but I’m a lot more of cautious with that one.” Mathias sighed and swung his legs back down in preparation to stand. “I’m going to go and get something better to drink, you want anything?”

“You know my usual. If I’m not here I’ll be in the room.”

He managed to find a something local and exceptionally brilliant, within 20 minutes of listening to his sneakers kiss the gradually warming concrete. Lukas had been grateful when the taller blonde returned with something big, something appropriately caffeinated and flavoured to the Norwegian’s liking. He didn’t entirely jump to thank him, but the gentle murmur of a thank you and the slight smile of gratitude had satisfied Mathias enough. With two large takeaway cups still on his person, he made a quick escape back to Lars’ bedroom before the rest of the nations dragged their sorry asses from their hotel rooms. While a surprising amount of them did make a point to avoid him, he still didn’t entirely enjoy the idea of the odd few who were always up for early morning conversation.

Those were the sadists.

After he deemed his impromptu socialising quota completed for the morning, he disappeared into Lars’ room as quickly as he could. Unsurprisingly, the man was still mimicking a corpse when he entered, but at least this time his eyes were open and they were following the shapes of smoke above his head. Lars didn’t turn his head towards the Dane when he shut the door behind him, nor did he tear his focus away from the oh so pretty shapes suspended above him. Acknowledgement wasn’t entirely required this deep in their relationship, they simply expected the other one to be present at some point. It was almost as natural as breathing to be loitering around one another and throughout the years, the other nations had adapted to presuming the exact same thing.

A half empty glass that once contained water was now being used as a makeshift ashtray, and it sat on the Netherlander’s stomach for accessibility. Mathias said his good mornings as he put down their drinks on the bedside table and pinched whatever Lars’ was smoking for a single drag. Even without the sickly sweet smell in the air as a clear indicator of what the other male was smoking, Mathias would have been extremely surprised if the substance passing into his lungs was classified as legal.

“The coffee turned to absolute shit downstairs, I got your favourite.” He placed the spliff between Lars’ lips again as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“What happened to what they were serving yesterday?”

“America’s opinion happened.”

“…As always.” Lars began to sit up, only just remembering the glass full of ash still resting on his abdomen before it spilled onto the white sheets. A few minutes passed, where they drank their dose of caffeinated goodness under a comfortable hush. The windows were still open to accommodate to the dying morning’s zephyr and the curtains danced towards the two coyly due to the shift of air. Mathias’ fingers drummed against the warmth that radiated from behind the cardboard, Lars alternated between sipping at his drink and finishing his joint, and together they fell into the act of simply existing as the rest of the world, figuratively and literally woke up.

The Dane picked up on the little visuals he was presented with, his focus of interest being his friend who seemed to barely realise he was actually awake. Natural discharge was still crusted in the corner’s of his eyes and his hair still lay flatten against his forehead. A little trail of dried saliva was stuck to his cheek from where he’d drooled in his sleep and it took the five minute lag of confusion to cross Lars’ features when he had noticed Mathias intently watching him, for the Nordic to also add to the list, that Lars’ usually attentiveness wasn’t quite up to speed either. That might have had something to do with the early morning hit, or it might have had something to do with the fact that the Netherlander was always beyond disorientated right after waking up.

“Come back with me to Amsterdam.”

Mathias remained unfazed by the demand and replied with a simple, “Sure.”

xxx

Lars’ apartment was a source of some kind of comfort to Mathias, considering the amount of time he spent in the studio with it’s paint splatters on the wooden floors and the view overlooking the canals, it wasn’t a very unusual outcome by that point. After he had toed off his shoes and dragged his bags into the spare room, he couldn’t help but pad over to the section of the expensive floor that was saturated in the late afternoon sun, in order to curl his toes against the warmth and appreciate the fact it wasn’t the scalding concrete he’d been walking across only a few hours prior.

There was a few moments of silence before the front door opened again, signalling that Lars had returned from picking up the still snoozing bundle of fur that was curled in the crook of his arm from the elder lady downstairs. From the smell that followed his entrance and the muffled crinkle of a paper bag, she’d also gifted him some of her (quite frankly completely unreal) baking.

“Linda says hello.” The Netherlander came to stand beside him after he had done all that he had needed to do, Mathias had zoned out not to soon after the man had made his return known.

“What’d she give you this time?” The blonde smiled down endearing at the white fuzzball still cradled in Lars’ arms. Using a single finger, he scratched between the rabbit’s ears. It slept like the dead, that was for sure. Like owner, like pet.

“Appeltaart.” The slight eyebrow wriggle on Lars’ behalf as he replied had not been missed by Mathias. “Don’t worry, she put a slice in there for you too when she saw you come in.”

“An angel walks among us. Want me to make some coffee while you make up for lost quality time with Miff?”

“Hmmm…. You know how to use the machine better than I do.”

The Dane watched the man adopt the window seat as he cuddled his fur baby close and murmured to her closely in the hopes of coaxing her awake. He didn’t move for a couple of fleeting seconds, rather he remained pensive as his eyes remained fixed on Lars’ as he took note of natural golden streaks amidst the gravity defying light brown and the way his eyes lit up in the light that poured in through the window. The smile of adoration was, dare he say, beyond adorable as Lars’ continued to rub his finger tips into Miffy’s fur.

He named every rabbit he had owned, regardless of gender, the exact same thing for years now.

Stretching his arms above his head, he disappeared into the apartment to fix them both something to drink. The gentle purr of the coffee machine only furthered the tranquil state of mind he had entered since arriving in a familiar environment. He watched steam rise from the mugs he’d set down as they were filled, his cheek pressed against the coffee machine to feel the gentle vibrations and unnecessary exhaustion that had been building up, due to almost a week of seeing no more than a couple of hours of sleep, began to settle in. A nap sounded good, yeah it sounded really, really fucking good.

He added an extra shot of espresso into his own drink.

Sleep was for the weak and all that anyway.

Lars appeared to be somewhat surprised by Mathias’ presence when he returned to place the man’s mug at his elbow, due to the fact his paradise that consisted of himself and the rabbit he seemed content whispering to, was momentarily interrupted by another being. However that initial shock wore away for an open expression of contentment when he realised who it was and once again, resumed his gentle one sided conversation with Miffy. Meanwhile, Mathias opted to sitting cross legged against the wall beside the window seat, his own mug between his hands to sip at as he soaked in the last few, thankfully pleasant, rays from the waning sunlight.

Now this, this was living. Simply existing within the same space as somebody who may as well have been an extra limb and with nothing particularly demanding coming up in the near future aside from the probable succumb to sleep. Heaven. A couple of days of intensively not listening to nations almost rip out each other’s necks and the additional few days beforehand, that involved the usual preliminaries of reading through the most recent events in the world’s news in order to be fully prepared for whatever said nation’s were going to wipe each other’s asses with, had finally ended. God he was going to appreciate it while he could, there was only so many consecutive headaches he could get in one day, before he’d try and uppercut somebody through the fucking wall.

As he tended to his beverage, he closed his eyes to his visual surroundings and opened his ears to Amsterdam. Lively as always with tourists and locals alike, even through the closed windows he could still distinctively make out the subdued chatter of pedestrians, could still hear the collective musical peal from passing bikes and curiously enough a couple just on the other side of the road who seemed quite at ease with letting the whole street know their issues. Eventually he returned back to the room, listening to clock tick somewhere in the apartment, the soft murmurs from the man behind him, his heartbeat in his ears and the crackle when he swallowed down more coffee. His breathing slowed down as he swiped the last few drops away with his tongue, his eyes remained closed against the dimming light, his body grew heavy as time passed the trio by, and the final push into well needed rest was Lars’ hand finding it’s way into Mathias’ styled locks to pull the strands free from their particular styling and scratch at his scalp.

So much for that extra shot.

xxx

The next thing he remembered, was waking up half suffocating, with his nose pressed against a cologne he did not use and his fingers curling against hips that were not his own. The last support his body had been in contact with had been the wall against his back and the floor under his ass; certainly not the softness of a living room couch subsiding to his torso and legs, nor the thighs his face was being smothered by. Groggily, he turned his head to the side to suck air that wasn’t laced with cotton fibres and Ralph Lauren into his stale lungs with a shuddering breath and blinked away the sleep that glued his eyelids together. Hands were in his hair, that was the final detail that registered with him, before he became fully recognisant of where exactly he was situated on the axis of the planet.

While it was true that Lars was a mess after waking up, Mathias on the other hand was well aware, that he himself was a sight to behold after returning to the land of the living. He could hear a rumble of quiet laughter behind him and he pinched the man’s upper thighs in response to cut it off.

“Good morning to you too.” The Netherlander murmured, his fingers never failing to burrow further into his, undoubtedly, derelict hair.

Mathias attempted to lift his head, managing only a few centimetres he allowed his head to slam back down onto the male with a grunt. “What time is it?”

“2am.”

“Good morning indeed then.” Mathias groaned, the joints in his knuckles protesting as they unhinged from the vicelike grip they’d probably been in for a good few hours.He rubbed his eyes until he saw stars printed on the back of his eyelids and eventually he gave that up too, his limbs still half dead and too lethargic to really move for too long. The blonde took a few deep breaths, still blinking away the grasp of Somnus as best he could. Somewhere in the corner of the room, the flicker of candlelight licked up the walls, the reflection of such was clearly cast against the surface of an empty glass. He could identify the lingering odour of what once was gin. The TV was nothing more than a low, continuous background noise that was drowned out by the severe abundance of city life pandemonium beyond the apartment block. The breeze was pleasant, really, really pleasant in comparison to what he’d suffered for no more than a couple of days.

It occurred to him after a while, that somehow he obviously ended up in the position he was now in, he was not one for sleep walking, no that was more Tino’s forte. Unless it was somehow contagious, although he really doubted that was how he moved from the floor to the sofa. Rolling onto his back he peered up at the Netherlander’s chin curiously. “…Did you carry me?”

Above him, Lars hummed an affirmative and looked down his nose at the blonde. “It was that or listening to you complain abut how stiff your ass and shoulders would be after sleeping on the floor.”

“Wouldn’t the bedroom have been a better idea?”

“Too intimate, plus I got lazy.”

“Sloth is one of the 7 deadly sins, Lars, heed my warning.”

“So is pride, yet here you are.” Lars deadpanned.

The Dane’s chuckle persisted in being teemed with inertia. “Hypocrite.”

Another moment of vocal rest settled over them as voices chattered out of bars and restaurants from the street outside of the limitations of the walls surrounding them. The gentle scratching in Mathias’ hair resumed and the blonde closed his eyes to focus on the sensation, all the while attempting to gain some kind of will to move his ass to either the kitchen or the bedroom, one or the other would do at that point. Maybe both, yeah both would be cool. Just as he was attempting to move, the spidery fingers against his scalp slid down the upturned curve of his jaw and a thumb tapped against his bottom lip. Curiously he looked up at the other male again, mildly confused by the overtly intimate gesture yet unspoken, ambiguous request. When it crossed Mathias’ mind that Lars’ had indeed, completely zoned out, did he part his lips and tilt his chin just so, in order to catch the Netherlander’s knuckle between his teeth.

“What are you doing? That was rude, I was thinking.” Lars basically whispered down to him. The Dane smiled around the flesh in his mouth, the pad of the other’s thumb that was pressed against the gentle bowl created by his tongue, was still flavoured with Lars’ favoured substance.

When he pulled back and released Lars’ from his jaws, he looked down to examine the thin trail of saliva still connecting him to the other. The faint indentations where his teeth had been were quickly fading. “I could ask you the same thing, anyway, I think I’m going to go and make myself something to drink again. You want something?’

“Hot chocolate would be great, I might try and get some sleep after this movie finishes.” It seemed almost hesitant when Lars’ withdrew his hand from the man entirely, the reluctance was not missed by Mathias who had, had his gaze completely fixed on the translucent bridge as it snapped in two. He looked up again, eyes narrowed slightly as he searched for an unknown something in the Netherlander’s expression, before he chose to wriggle out from under the arms resting across his chest.

Mathias returned with warmth against his palms, to the credits rolling and a sleepy-eyed Netherlander with his arms above his head and a yawn crawling out of his throat. He did Lars the favour of blowing out candles as he followed the retreating figure, luckily moonlight dripped and pooled onto the ground to highlight any obstacles in their path as the incandescence was snuffed out. Lars had maintained the strangely pleasing absence of light as the low rise mattress came into view. There was no squeak of welcome from the nest of blankets in the corner of the room, that was very occupied by a dreaming bunny. They sunk to their knees, one more careful in their movements than the other and as soon as they were both comfortable in sitting positions, did Lars’ lay his claim on one of the Starbucks mugs.

One could call it sentimental that there were mugs for both of their capitals in each of their homes, however initially it had been some twisted sort of joke. In some way, it was probably morbid to have a picture of your literal organ printed on the side of a mug to drink brown liquid out of. Or leaf water, or a mix of something with too much spirits and not enough mixer, at the end of the day anything goes. The faint, endearing smile from Lars was enough to put a mirroring grin on the Dane’s mouth. They locked stares as they tongued at the rim of ceramic, printed with the names of their hearts in unison.

The Dane inspected the hand that was not curled around his drink as he lapped at the scalding fluid. Lars’ designs were barely visible by that point, some patches of ink still remained, but much to his disappointment the majority had long since faded throughout the course of the previous day. Beside his fingers he could feel the scratchy edges of burnt material from where a cigarette had accidentally scorched the mattress some weeks before that point. Considering how crisp it still felt, Mathias couldn’t help but wonder when exactly, was the last time Lars had changed the sheets.

In some weird and wonderful way, that particular thought process made a couple of other things simply click in his head.

Lars’ habit of drawing on him at any given time, with no request other than reaching his hand out with a pen in the other, was seemingly compulsive. Well, at first itwas. Whenever he saw that the sketches and full on works of art had washed off, he always made a point of replacing them with something else just as brilliant. But something else about it was a bit… off. People stopped questioning it after the first few times he started doing it, but their quizzical looks never changed and neither did the strange look of pride and satisfaction that would cross Lars’ face whenever he caught a flash of his handiwork from under the sleeve of Mathias’ shirt. It started to mirror a form of ownership, a passive hickie that was to be admired. Mathias’ eyed narrowed slightly as he turned the thought over, very smooth Ned, very very smooth indeed.

“You really should tattoo me.” He said absently, his nail scratching against the circular wound in the fabric.

Lars cleared his throat, the forced excretion of air coming out rough and infused with shock. “…What?”

“Tattoo me, with your artwork. Original or not I’d love it. I really wasn’t joking the first time I suggested it.” Mathias curled his fingers in the sheets once the blackened fringes he had been working at flaked off under his nails. Glancing up, he placed his mug down and closed the space between them by leaning into the other’s personal space. He noted the explosion of the Netherlander’s pupils at the reduced distance. At some point during his advance, Mathias’ had twisted Lars’ shirt between his knuckles. “You do it as a means of possession, don’t you? That’s why you kissed me in the bathroom after I proposed you should ink me, isn’t it?”

Lars wasn’t even breathing.

“I knew you liked me.” Mathias was grinning ear to ear at that point. The forest frozen on him, constantly shifting through stages of death and revival and a slither of green was aglow in the radiance of restricted illumination. The Dane bit his lip as he examined Lars and the grown man squirmed under his grip.

He could really love him further than the extent to which he already did. “Do it again, kiss me again.” He said when Lars continued to deprive himself of breath, there was something strangely vulnerable hidden in his expression. It was as if he were the headlights of a car and the other was the deer caught in the blinding beacon, but alongside the terror of being caught out so abruptly, there was excitement, a hint of relief, a dash of longing.

His sigh bubbled with content when he was granted the opportunity to taste those emotions against his teeth. A once tired Lars proved to have more life left in him than he had let on as he pulled the Dane under him and endeavoured to consume to blonde with the practised twist of his tongue. They’d kissed plenty of times, fucked probably just as much, but never did he ever kiss Mathias like he wanted to be destroyed and recreated by him. Or perhaps even the other way around, it was hard for the Dane to make sense of it entirely, the tenderness was different than usual, the scrape of teeth against the inside of his lip proved to be evocative, the hands holding him in place seemed more sure of where they belonged on his body. 

For one rare moment, the writer was at a loss for words.

Nobody had kissed him like that in almost forever.

He could still taste an undertone of gin amongst the chocolate in the other’s mouth, and god, god, god fuck that tongue drove him wild. His hands sought the depths of the dirty blonde locks, the strands stiff against his fingers as he pulled lightly and drew him in closer. He sunk his teeth into Lars’ lip, testing the pliability of the skin just as he had so many times prior and the man produced a moan so filthy that he began considering how fast they could both get naked. Mathias could basically feel his companion unravelling above him, tension left his shoulders and his kisses grew sweeter, less desperate, less likely to lead onto them no longer requiring clothing. Their tongues twisted languidly together, Mathias’ hands slid down to cup either side of the Netherlander’s neck and Lars settled against him more comfortably as they continued to osculate.

He definitely felt the loss when Lars’ pulled back, sated with an open mouth, swollen lips and blown pupils as he gaze down at Mathias’ in something resembling wonder. His fingers slid over the sharp edges of the Dane’s face and his touch left warm trails under the flesh.

“I really don’t get you Danmark.” A laugh ghosted along his words and was born as a deep chuckle. “I don’t get you at all.”


End file.
